


Efforts In Assimilation

by JazzRaft



Series: daemon / hunter [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 04:34:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9640946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzRaft/pseuds/JazzRaft
Summary: Despite Ravus's vehement protests to the contrary, Gladiolus is determined to make him socialize.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on [tumblr](http://jazzraft.tumblr.com/post/156231777082/gladiolusravus-10-please-dont-make-me) for #10 in [this prompt post.](http://jazzraft.tumblr.com/post/156180067603/send-me-two-characters-or-more-and-a-prompt-and)

“Please don’t make me socialize.”

“Beggin’s only gonna make it worse pal.”

There was the strength of about a hundred daemonic entities crafted into his Magitek arm, and yet, Ravus couldn’t shake it out of Gladiolus’s grip. Or dig his heels into the dirt deep enough to make himself into a dead weight that he couldn’t carry. Ravus might have Magitek, but Gladiolus had all muscle. Engineering innovation had nothing on bodily dedication.

“Look, I went out and got you your own chair and everything,” the big man said, unceremoniously dropping Ravus into the canvas seat.

When he tried to climb back to his feet, his shoulder met the immovable persistence of Gladiolus’s hand and he was shoved back down. Ravus grit his teeth and glared at him, but Gladiolus was immune to the skin-searing effect. The admonishing look he gave him in return seemed to say, “I have to wake up the Brat of Lucis every morning. You’ve got nothin’ on _that_.”

Gladiolus settled into the chair next to his, stretching out like a lounging behemoth. “Whatcha cookin’ tonight, Iggy?” he asked.

“I’m sure you’ll be delighted to hear that all we can spare to eat tonight are your – “ Ignis visibly shuddered – “cup noodles.”

Gladiolus’s lips turned up into a feral grin. He reached over and nudged his fist into Ravus’s arm. “You’re in for a treat.”

“Hardly,” Ignis grumbled and Ravus had to agree.

He’d been wrangled into Noctis’s merry band of misfits a few weeks prior, mostly by Aranea’s recommendation. The commodore had returned from a mission in the Vesperpool, unusually enthusiastic as she strut into Ravus’s office, uninvited as usual.

“So, here’s a way to piss off Chancellor Creepy,” she told him, and proceeded to recommend that the High Commander trade allegiances to the Prince of Lucis. He adamantly refused each of her arguments before she eventually finished with an uncharacteristically sober statement. “Do it, Ravus. It just might save your life.”

She hadn’t elaborated, merely stared at him, hard, an edge in her eyes of knowing something she wasn’t supposed to. A few days later, Ravus approached the group, sword sheathed and hands up, offering his services. It had taken a long time for the initial mistrust to subside, and he still shared mutually wary glances with all of them, but the longer he went without impaling Noctis in his sleep, the easier it was becoming to travel together.

Oddly enough, it was Gladiolus who warmed to him the quickest. He recognized a commitment in Ravus that he could only respect, not decry. Any time Ravus brought up Luna and couldn’t catch himself before he started rambling about how all he did, he did for her, Gladiolus’s glare turned sober and the tension in his shoulders melted with a companionable chuckle.

Having turned against the Empire for a few weeks wasn’t quite enough to extinguish a lifetime sworn to loathe Noctis though. So, when the prince tentatively asked him from his safe distance across the campfire if he’d ever tried cup noodles before, it took considerable restraint for Ravus not to snarl like a rabid animal at him.

“No,” he stated instead, simple and curt.

Noctis nodded because there was nothing else he could say to that. He glanced back at Prompto, who’d set his chair just a hair behind Noctis’s own, the furthest away from Ravus. He was the most intimidated by the High Commander, which was a problem, Ravus quickly realized, because Prompto was the one that usually made social interaction easier for all of them. His hesitance to regard Ravus without any fear hefted the responsibility of instigating friendliness elsewhere. Presumably to Gladiolus.

“When you try ‘em once, you’ll keep goin’ back to ‘em again and again,” he informed Ravus, salivating already as Ignis prepared the portable meal.

“Maybe we should climb back up to Ravatogh again,” Noctis teased. “Shed a little blood, cry a little tears, and whip him up your super noodles.”

“Hey, I didn’t hear you complaining around how much of that stuff you shoveled down your throat when we were done.”

“When you’re running for your life down a live volcano, you tend to work up an appetite. I’d have eaten anything after that.”

“Good to know,” Ignis noted.

Gladiolus barked in laughter at the scowl on Noctis’s face. Ignis hid a diabolical smirk behind the armful of noodles he returned to the fire with.

“Enjoy your watered down delicacy,” he said as he handed one to Gladiolus and Ravus each. Gladiolus narrowed a glare up at the man for the insult, but Ignis was already in his seat, admonishing Prompto and Noctis not to eat too fast.

“Hey,” Ravus heard Gladiolus say. When he turned, the man tapped his cup of noodles against his own and said, “Cheers!”

The rest of them mimicked the gesture before digging in. Ravus observed their reactions to the meal, gauging which argument for or against the noodles was more likely accurate. Prompto and Gladiolus wolfed it down, Noctis picked neutrally through it, and Ignis ate quietly in resignation. Overall, content. If it was good enough for these Lucian rapscallions, it would be good enough for Ravus.

As Ignis had inferred, it was mostly salty broth and overly processed meat. Hardly akin to the craftsmanship of Tenebraen dishes, but sufficient enough to fill an empty stomach on the open road. Ravus paused, briefly, when he observed that most of the eyes around the campsite were flitting to and from him, trying not to stare, but contagiously curious. He glanced to the side to meet Gladiolus’s stalwart stare, probing his expression for a favorable reaction.

Ravus calculated the tone surrounding the fire, not knowing why, but feeling like there was an opportunity here that he didn’t understand, but had to take. Thinking carefully, Ravus twirled his fork around some noodles and said, “Not bad…”

“Ha!” Gladiolus shot at Ignis.

“…For meat-flavored water.”

An undignified snort came from behind Noctis’s chair, Prompto unsuccessfully hiding a curl of his lips behind his hand. Gladiolus skewed a glare back at him, and for some reason that made Noctis chuckle, and Noctis laughing only made Prompto laugh a little more.

“Whose side are you on?” Gladiolus growled at the two of them.

“The side of good taste,” Ravus said before taking another bite, pointedly not meeting Gladiolus’s glare.

Ignis snickered in agreement, hiding his smile around a mouthful of noodles.

“Don’t worry,” Gladiolus consoled his own cup as if it were an actual person with hurt feelings. “I’ll love you enough for five people.”

“Gods, Gladio, we’ve really gotta talk about your weird noodle fixation one of these days,” Noctis managed to say around his laughter.

“I don’t have a problem, _you_ have a problem.”

The rest of the evening was spent teasing Gladiolus and emptying cup noodles. Ravus was occasionally prompted to interject a dry statement about the state of Gladiolus’s mental faculties. Regardless of whether or not he intended to be humorous – he did not – whatever he said inspired laughter from the group. At some point, Ignis had decided that he was his new favorite and his chair ended up next to Ravus’s for easier access in trading sly remarks at Gladiolus’s expense.

To his credit, the swordsman took the ridicule like a brick wall, bouncing back double of what they threw at him. While Gladiolus was returning one of Noctis’s barbs – much to Ravus’s delight – the High Commander noted the emptiness of all of their cups, and pondered how they were all still present. Back home, dinner was served, dinner was consumed, the table was cleared, and the room was emptied. Dining had a singular purpose: to dine.

But out here, with these fools, eating only to survive, not to indulge, meals were shared and so was more. Camaraderie bred humor and humor nurtured hope. There was a light to the group, something that Ravus hadn’t seen beneath the thumb of the Empire in a very long time. It showed in the flash of Gladiolus’s teeth as he grinned over at him, punching his arm again in a brotherly gesture that Ravus was slowly starting to get used to. And slowly starting to like.


End file.
